


Constancy

by imaginary_golux



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something to be said for unchanging love.  Written for Porn Battle XIII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constancy

Hades does not change: he is the god of the Underworld, of dark places and of the dead, and the dead are not known to change, after all. But Persephone has learned to appreciate this particular aspect of her husband, for one reason: his affection, like all else about him, is constant.

It does not matter that she leaves him each spring; when she returns each autumn, the love in his eyes shines just as bright. It does not matter that when she leaves she is a woman in the fullness of her beauty and when she returns she is Kore again, slender maiden of the upper world; he desires her just the same. His hands never lose their gentleness where he touches her sides, her breasts, the spread paleness of her thighs. His lips never lose their unexpected warmth when he kisses her, eyelids and lips and down her body to her secret places.

Other men – other gods – might grow weary of fidelity. Zeus loses interest in his conquests as soon as he has conquered them; Apollo forgets the last nymph as soon as he sees the next, and mourns but lightly for his slain lovers. But Hades – cold Hades – ah, he will never betray her, never turn from her for another woman or a beautiful boy. Each time she returns, he smiles as though she is the only light he will ever need, spreads her out on clean sheets on their shared bed and makes her cry out in pleasure many times before he takes his own.

And she – she is in no wise fickle. There are beautiful boys aboveground, to be sure, and sometimes she watches them and smiles, but there is but one man for her, has been since she first tasted pomegranate (and his kisses still taste of its sweet juice), and she waits eagerly each year for the day when her mother sighs and lets her go, and she can run swift and beautiful down the dark passageways to where her husband, patient and beloved, waits.


End file.
